


still here like an echo

by SunshineScorpius



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Guilt, Loss and Grieving, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:33:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22774195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunshineScorpius/pseuds/SunshineScorpius
Summary: Loss and death imprint on the brain in harrowing ways, creating ghosts built off love and ghosts created from guilt. Loss comes in all shapes and sizes, people deal with it in a thousand different ways, but it's much harder to move on from grief when the ghosts live inside your memories.And sometimes those ghosts can be a comfort as well as haunting.
Relationships: Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter
Comments: 8
Kudos: 35





	still here like an echo

**Author's Note:**

> Just as a general warning, this fic talks about death and loss in great detail, please be aware of that before reading :)

He was thirteen when it happened. The rain was pouring down heavy on the empty walls of Malfoy Manor, as heavy and hard as his heart felt. For he had just lost his mum and his world was tilted on its axis. But there was one thing the young boy would learn about loss; no one was ever truly gone so long as they lived inside your heart like an echo. And the one thing he would never learn is that Astoria was always looking out for him, even if he couldn’t see her.

#

He was fourteen when it happened, when he had to watch the life of a young boy be taken in the cruellest way. The wind was whistling, shaking the goals on the Quidditch Pitch, and shaking his whole entire world. But there was one thing he would learn about loss; that when you’re riddled with guilt, they’re never truly gone. And the one thing he would never learn is how to let go and accept that Craig dying was never his fault.

#

Scorpius stopped in his tracks, causing Albus to come to an abrupt stop too, as he turned to follow the noise he heard. A laugh, one so loud and full of life, one he heard many times in his childhood, but hadn’t heard in years.

“Scorpius?” Albus asked, looking behind him to see what Scorpius was looking at.

“I thought I heard… never mind,” he shook his head, looking for a beat longer, as though he was waiting for that laugh to sound again, but it never did. He turned back around and met eyes with a curious and confused Albus, but simply shook his head again and smiled. “Let’s go.”

So they continued about their walk, the laugh of Astoria Malfoy pushed to the back of his mind.

#

“CRAIG, COME ON,” Albus heard from across the courtyard, instantly standing up to see where the voice had come from, to see who had been calling the name of a dead boy. His book tumbled to the floor, bending the edges, but Albus couldn’t focus on that. “Craig!” The girl shouted again and Albus whipped his head around.

Standing on the other side of the courtyard was a girl, waving and gesturing wildly to another boy, dressed in Slytherin green robes and wearing a Slytherin beanie.

“I’m coming!” He called back, and Albus’ shoulders sagged. It wasn’t him; of course it wasn’t. Craig Bowker Junior was no longer alive, he was gone and had been gone for months. Yet, there was a part of him that hoped it was him, that the events of that evening had never unfolded the way they did.

#

The library was empty that day, Ravenclaw were playing Gryffindor and even though Scorpius wanted to support Lily, James and Rose, he was behind on an assignment due for Potions due to his interrupted sleep schedule and wandering brain. So, he hit the library.

He had gathered all the books he needed and headed back to the desk that Albus had grabbed for them, throwing them all down with a loud bang that Albus barely reacted to; he was used to it by now.

Scorpius picked up the first book and opened the page, pausing and gasping when he saw the name written there.

_Astoria Greengrass, checked out: 23 rd October 2000_

She was suddenly everywhere. She was lurking down the book aisles searching for the perfect title; she was sat at a desk studying for a test; she was talking to the librarian about a book in the restricted section. He could see her; hear her, like a ghost living in the halls of the castle.

He never finished his potion assignment that day.

#

“You can’t run from me, Potter, I’m everywhere,” the boy snarled, baring his teeth. Albus, however, kept running, he kept going and going and going and hoping beyond all hope he’d lose him. His breath was running short, his legs were burning, but he needed to get away. “You think you can escape me? I’m dead because of you!”

A hand gripped onto his shoulder and Albus was forced to a stop. Nails gripped into his skin as Albus turned and met the brown eyes of Craig, but they weren’t soft like they used to be, they were hollow and cold. There was dirt covering his face, blood running from his eyes and nose.

“You killed me, Albus Potter.”

Albus woke in a cold sweat, his heart beating rapidly. He sat up, pulling the blanket up to his neck and tried to settle his breathing.

He didn’t fall back to sleep.

#

Cold, icy frost covered the circle where he stood, nibbling at the tips of his toes as the hooded figure hung over him. There was nothing but darkness, nothing but sadness as the black figure swarmed around in his head, searching for his soul to drain from him. The real world seemed cut off, a thousand miles away, and all Scorpius could see was black and all he could hear was an agonised scream.

 _“Scorpius,”_ the voice called, as soft and as gentle as he remembered. _“Help me, Scorpius,”_ his mum pleaded, but he couldn’t. She was too far away, he was far too young, and the curse was too far gone.

“I can hear my mother,” his own voice sounded, his breath creating clouds in front of him.

His mother let out a loud scream, the pain becoming all too much as the curse ripped at her every edge. It cut through Scorpius’ ears, sending a shiver down his spine unrelated to the cold, bitter feel of the dementors.

“Scorpius?” Another voice, a mixture of his mum and someone else.

“Scorpius, wake up,” a hand on his shoulder.

Scorpius opened his eyes in a panic, his heart thumping loudly. He was shivering as he sat up, still in a dreamlike haze, as his dad wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. His mums blanket, one that had been washed a few times since she passed but still somehow smelled like her. He blinked a few times, eyes adjusting to the dimmed lighting of his bedroom and not the faraway Forbidden Forest that his dreams had taken him to.

“Are you okay, Scorpius?” His dad asked, now rubbing his back.

He looked at his dad with tears in his eyes, feeling guilty for no doubt waking him up with his bad nightmares – for the fourth time this week. They were never usually this bad, but being at home and away from Albus – the anchor that kept him grounded when the night falls – meant they were coming in at their worst. Though usually they were about _other_ things, his mum rarely made an appearance.

Scorpius nodded, then thought about it, and shook his head. Draco stayed quiet for a moment, letting his son gather his thoughts. It had taken a while for them to get to this stage, to the point where they were beginning to understand each other. They still had a long way to go, but they were heading in the right direction.

“Do you…” Scorpius started, then trailed off. He took a deep breath and tried again. “Do you ever think about mum?”

It wasn’t what he expected Scorpius to say. Scorpius knew that his mum was still a sore subject for the both of them, even over two years later.

“I do,” Draco said, talking around the lump that had risen in his throat.

“Everyone said it would get easier,” Scorpius said, playing with a loose thread of the blanket with shaky hands. Hands that shook way too often; hands that would only steady in the hands of someone else; hands that would never touch his mum again. “Every waking moment it’s just ‘mum, mum, mum’, all the time over and over, she’s all I think about. And now she’s in my dreams, how am I supposed to live with that, dad?”

The worst thing is Draco had no idea. He was still struggling with that himself.

“Come here,” Draco said, standing up and holding out his hand for Scorpius.

Scorpius looked at him with his eyes squinted in confusion, so Draco wiggled his fingers and nodded his head. Still confused, Scorpius untangled himself from the duvet, and stood to take his dads hand, losing the blanket in the process. His hand was warm in his dads, taking away the rest of the chill that remained from the dream.

His dad led him out of his room and down the hall to where his office was, a place that Scorpius was not allowed to go without permission. He opened the door with his free hand and gestured for Scorpius to enter first. They released their hands and Scorpius entered and looked around, doing a full circle before turning back to his dad still standing in the door.

“What’s all this about, dad?”

“This place holds many memories of your mum,” he said, stepping into the office. “You know how you go to the library and sit in her chair?” Scorpius nodded. “Well, this office is my chair.”

Scorpius looked around. He hadn’t been in here since before his mum died, but she did spend a lot of time in here too. The house was big enough for her to have her own office, but she liked to share her space with her husband, just as they shared a bedroom, a bathroom and sometimes the same armchair, even though there was plenty spare. Scorpius was always overwhelmed by his parents love, and he felt for sure he would never find someone who loves him like they loved each other. He’s lucky that he did.

Scorpius wandered over to the side of the office that clearly hadn’t been touched in years – her side. It was a mess, a disarray of papers, poems she’d never finished and pictures she’d drawn whenever she got bored of actual work. But the thing that hurt the most was a canvas on an easel where Scorpius could just see the lining of his own face beginning to come to life. There was a small picture of him at the bottom, taken at the beginning of that dreaded summer when his heart was still full of light and happiness. Next to the picture was a paintbrush, crusted, dried up paint on the end.

An unfinished canvas by an unfinished life.

Scorpius looked at his dad quickly, fingers hovering over the picture, and waited for his dad to confirm he could touch it with a nod. Once he did, Scorpius picked it up and looked at it. He remembers the day well, his first day back after his second year at Hogwarts. His mum was feeling a little better, so they went out to the greenhouses to tend to the flowers. Scorpius was dressed in dungarees, a book tucked into his front pocket. There was mud in his hair and in his hands an array of purple tulips – his mothers favourite. He was looking at her behind the camera, laughing at whatever it was she said so hard that it made his eyes crinkle, just at the time she captured the picture.

It was a muggle picture, captured with a muggle camera she once found in a second-hand store when Scorpius was much younger. She always preferred muggle pictures to wizarding ones, she says they capture so much more emotion and happiness in a single frame. Scorpius was always amazed by her and how she found happiness in the simple things in life. Her life was a curse, but she was overjoyed by muggle pictures and flowers in her favourite colour, and he could see exactly what she meant by this picture of him.

He had no idea she was painting it, he had no idea it would forever go unfinished.

“If someone said to me that at the end of that summer she’d be gone, I would never have believed them,” Scorpius said, staring down at the picture of himself, unable to look at his dad.

Draco stepped up next to him. “It all happened so fast.”

“Do you not let me in here because of mum?” He asked, looking up at him.

“I… didn’t want you to see that canvas for a long time,” he explained, stepping away. “I was going to clear up her things, but I could never find the heart to do it.”

It was Scorpius’ turn to be brave, so he stepped up to his dad and took his hand.

“I understand. Leaving her things in here means leaving her mark in here; I can feel it – feel her – like an echo.”

His dad looked at him for a while with a face Scorpius couldn’t quite decipher, and then softly smiled. “I don’t know at which point you grew up, Scorpius, but can you grow back down? You’re far too wise and kind for your age.”

“I’m nearly sixteen, dad,” Scorpius said, a smile growing on his face as well.

Draco wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close, loving that fact that even though his little boy is all grown up, he was still that little bit shorter than him. “I know.”

#

“Are you coming, Al?” Scorpius asked as he untangled his awkwardly long limbs from around Albus. Albus watched as Scorpius rolled ungracefully from the bed and over to his own, grabbing a jumper (that Albus was 99% sure was his) and pulling it on, messing up his hair slightly.

“Quidditch? You know that’s not my thing,” Albus shrugged off.

Scorpius pouted. “But you never come to matches with me,” he whined and Albus half-smiled. He relented and put down his quill to look at Scorpius.

“I’ll come if you give me five sugar quills and let me be the little spoon tonight,” Albus bargained.

Scorpius’ jaw dropped. “You want me to sacrifice sweets _and_ my cuddle spot for this?”

“That’s my final offer.”

Of course, Scorpius agreed to it despite his initial protest, which is how Albus found himself reluctantly walking down to the Quidditch Pitch. It was a moderately cold day and he would much rather being doing his charms essay in his bed with his boyfriend next to him humming the tune to some muggle band that James had shown him over the summer break, yet here he was and because he was there for Scorpius, he promised to try his best to enjoy himself.

Up in the stands, the winds blew stronger, so Albus cuddled further into Scorpius as he watched the Slytherin chaser steal the quaffle from Hufflepuff. The weather only took a turn for the worse as thunder crumbled in the sky, followed by a spark of lightening that made Albus jump, his mind spiralling back to another flash of light; a green one.

When Albus said that Quidditch wasn’t his thing, it was only a half-lie. The Quidditch Pitch wasn’t his thing because of the awful memories it held, like watching his best friend be tortured and watching a young boy fall to floor as the life was sucked out of him. A young boy who lived a half life; an unfinished life.

Craig Bowker Junior would forever haunt Albus Potters memories, he would forever be a ghost that would haunt him day in and day out, a ghost that would fill his dreams and his worst nightmares. A ghost created on guilt and pain and agony. And that ghost was everywhere. Albus would remember Craig and what happened to him at the strangest of times; he’d see a green beanie and remember his smile, he’d see someone be sorted and remember how happy Craig was to have a Potter in his year; he’d see a flash and remember him falling to the floor; he’d see those Quidditch goals and spiral into a pit of guilt that he didn’t do _more_ to save him.

“I have to go,” Albus said to Scorpius, quickly detaching himself and making his way to the stairs that lead out of the stands.

“Wait, Albus?” He heard Scorpius call, no doubt entering into a jog to follow him. Albus himself had entered a jog, not realising just how desperate he was to get as far away from the pitch as possible.

He didn’t know him, not enough. He barely had any memories of the boy, yet it seemed he was always haunted by every single one. Albus was just out of the stands and heading towards the school when Scorpius caught up to him, panting hard – he wasn’t the most athletic boy in the school.

“What’s wrong?” He asked as he caught up, taking Albus’ hand and slowing his stride to match Albus’, who had also slowed down now that he was far enough away from the place where he had to watch a boy get murdered.

“Nothing,” he muttered.

“Albus,” Scorpius said, pulling him to a stop. “Talk to me.”

“It’s stupid.”

“It’s clearly not stupid if it’s worrying you, or hurting you,” Scorpius said, looking at Albus with his big grey eyes. Albus had always found comfort in those eyes, they were like coming home. They were warm and soft, inviting him in and promising him that he would never be alone; that he would always have a friend in Scorpius.

Albus pulled his hand away and turned around, looking back at the Quidditch stands and sighing. “I don’t know what you see when you look at that, whether you see that night or if you just see Quidditch, but I see Craig.”

He couldn’t see Scorpius, but he could _feel_ his eyes on him.

“Oh,” he whispered softly, the word almost getting lost to the wind.

“I see him everywhere,” Albus confessed.

“It’s like he’s still here,” Scorpius said, stepping forward. Albus nodded. “A voice in your head, a ghost in the walls?”

“You understand?” Albus asked.

Scorpius stepped towards him again, their arms brushing as he entangled their fingers together and looked upon the pitch together. “Of course I do, we went through that together, remember?”

“I should have done something.”

“Like what?” Scorpius asked. “What could you have possibly done?”

“I don’t know… just something.”

“Al,” he spoke, so softly, “thinking like that will drive you crazy.”

Albus turned to him. “Are you telling me you don’t think about that night and how it could be different?”

“Every day!”

Albus was a little taken aback by Scorpius’ tone; he very rarely raised his voice at him. Albus didn’t mean to upset him; he just doesn’t know how to handle this. He doesn’t know how to deal with this echo inside his mind, the ghost that’s haunting him.

“I’m sorry,” Scorpius said before Albus had the chance. “I know what that voice inside of your head is like, it’s haunting,” he spoke softly, squeezing his hand.

“It’s been over a year,” Albus said, shaking his head. “When does it get better?”

Scorpius pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and shrugged. Albus was hoping for better.

“Your mum,” Albus whispered.

Scorpius shook his head. “I still think about her every day,” he confessed, though Albus knew that. Albus saw what his mum’s death did to Scorpius, he’s been the one there holding him when he wakes up from nightmares or just needs that little extra comfort on bad days. He’s never stopped missing her.

But Craig wasn’t the same. He barely knew him, regrettably. Albus wished he knew him more, then maybe he wouldn’t feel bad for grieving so hard over his death. He had to watch his friends grieve, crying in classes or being unable to attend altogether, paying tribute to him by wearing a green beanie every Tuesday because Tuesday was Craig’s favourite day. Albus wanted to take part, but never felt like he’d be welcomed to, so he paid his respects in other, quieter ways.

“You know what will help?” Scorpius said. Albus looked at him and shrugged. “Talking about him, making sure he’s remembered for other things and not just for the way he died.”

Albus was nodding his head, but he still couldn’t form any words to say. They were silent for a while, and Albus knows Scorpius was simply waiting for him to say something so he searched his brain for something.

“Do you feel guilty?” He eventually asked, and Scorpius tensed.

“Yes.”

“Me too.”

Albus rested his head on Scorpius’ shoulder and let out a sigh, wondering if he would ever stop feeling like the weight of Craig’s death hung on his shoulders. Standing there, looking upon the Quidditch Pitch, two boys mourned for the life of those lost far too young, both wishing they could have somehow done something to prevent it from happening.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, any comment no matter how small is always, always appreciated xx


End file.
